Kill and Cure

by Andy Ashdown Design

  ‘It was on the radio?’

  ‘An hour or two ago. When they said she was missing, I knew then they had killed her. That’s when I called you. I let her down, Stich.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ said Stich suddenly feeling sorry for him. ‘You told her to leave Immteck, that’s all you could do.’

  ‘They’ll be looking for me now … you too. They’ll kill both of us if they get half a chance. Stich, I’m not concerned for myself. If I’m killed, I deserve it. I kept my mouth shut and now Mike Venton and Susan are dead. Whatever happens to me happens. I want this story out, though. That’s what’s important now.’

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  41

  Vicky had spent the afternoon in a coffee bar, relieved to be away from the madness. It was clear there had been a batch of tumour biopsies infected with virus proteins, but why? Susan had listed batch numbers for each sample on her laptop, which meant they could be tracked and located. Now, back at the hotel, Vicky could access the Immteck database from the lobby wi-fi connection and find their origins. First, though, she badly needed a shower.

  She undressed quickly and savoured the hot spray as it danced over her skin. She thought of Stich. He may be coping all right now, but what about in the future when things settled down? The loss of Susan would hit him like a train. As soon as she was dressed she’d call him. Apart from anything else, she was anxious to find out what happened with Berry. Someone had to know what was going on.

  Someone.

  Back in the coffee bar, her mind had been in turmoil, but the decision she made there helped to calm it. Not that she wanted to contact him – they had an understanding after all – but what else was there to do? Their affair was new. It was delicious, 221

  but most of all, it was to be kept quiet. She understood that. They met in secret, their dates always arranged through a third party. A big hitter like him didn’t need scandal, especially the domestic kind. Besides she didn’t want ties, at least not yet.

  What if he was next? The biggest fish in the pond was an obvious target and there was no doubt about it, Laurence Tench was Immteck’s driving force.

  That settled it. She would call him. Tench would sort it. Anyone threatening Immteck or its staff would get his attention. She towelled herself dry and got into her clothes.

  When she emerged, there was someone relaxing on the settee. She vaguely recognized him. The shock pulled her up sharply. He nodded briefly and pointed his arm towards her. He had something cupped in his hand. What was going on? Did he work for the hotel? No, he was from elsewhere …

  the street clothes had thrown her … shit.

  The bullet hit Vicky’s sternum before the pop hit her ears. She buckled sideways and her shoulder slammed into the carpet.

  If only she could get her breath …

  Vicky was unaware that the man had left his seat and was now standing over her.

  … It would be all right.

  The second bullet entered the back of her neck and killed her instantly.

  * * *

  A headache that had been building for the last 222

  couple of hours punched at his temples. Stich tried rubbing it away.

  ‘So what now?’ he asked finally.

  Maxi sighed and edged forwards. ‘We need your help, Stich.’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  ‘But you need to know something else.’

  ‘What?’

  Maxi glanced at Kelvin who opened the document case, pulled out a single sheet of paper and handed it over.

  MEMO.

  To: Personnel with Access B clearance and above

  Date: Nov 15th 2008

  Subject: Krenthol trials – Phase Three Re: Patient one-five-one

  This subject is having a poor response to Krenthol. Infection with the 3f7

  vector occurred in the summer of 2008.

  The methods used for infection were standard. At the same facility and on the same day, eight other subjects had the vector deposited in the same way.

  As of now, the other eight are

  completely free of all deposited tumour cells.

  Investigation into this matter is ongoing.

  For obvious reasons a death at this stage is highly undesirable.

  223

  ‘What am I supposed to make of this?’

  ‘A patient on the current Immteck trial is not responding to Krenthol,’ said Maxi.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘That person is you, Stich.’

  In Rome’s Piazza Navona, drinking espresso and watching the sun illuminate the whole square, Susan had asked, ‘How did you cope with being so ill?’

  ‘I was a kid, so I just accepted things. I knew I was different from other children but beyond that I didn’t think too much about it.’

  Susan rocked a sleeping Alice in the pushchair. ‘It must have been hell for your mum.’

  ‘And Loni,’ said Stich, gazing at the thrusting torso of Neptune astride the fountain.

  ‘Well, I think you are very brave.’

  He looked over at his sleeping daughter – about as old as he was when he first became ill – her white sun hat slightly askew, long dark eyelashes, small button nose.

  Then back at Susan; this beautiful new woman who had entered his world.

  ‘I’m just glad I got through.’

  Susan flashed a smile. ‘So am I.’

  They both laughed.

  Four months ago, the doctor announced the cancer would need to be dealt with. His thoughts, as always, went straight to Alice. The desperate scenarios he had trained himself not to dwell on reared up at him once again.

  But now?

  ‘Are you sure it’s me?’ Stich heard himself say.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Maxi. ‘All those on the 224

  Krenthol trials, like you, have had cancer in the past.

  The check-ups, blood tests and so on that most of you undergo regularly are good opportunities to deposit 3f7.’

  ‘They’ve given me cancer on one of my check-ups?’

  ‘Almost certainly.’ Maxi clasped his hands together. ‘You asked me earlier if I did anything with the information Mike Venton gave me. I did do something with it.’ He turned to Kelvin who slid his fingers back into the envelope and pulled free a black and white A5 print. ‘I found this man.’

  The picture showed a dark haired lab technician dressed in a white coat and perched on a high stool by a bench. Stich opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and shut it again. It was Richard Hart.

  ‘You know him?’

  Stich hesitated. ‘I’ve seen him before.’

  ‘He was responsible for blood collection and analysis on the early Krenthol trials. I asked him if there were any circumstances in which a prospective patient would be denied entry onto the trial. He told me a deficiency in Promase would do it.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘An enzyme. It turns out that Krenthol needs Promase to have any chance of working even with 3f7 induced tumours. Don’t you see what’s happened? Up to now, Immteck have had complete control over all the Krenthol trial results. By inducing 3f7 tumours in Promase positive individuals, they get a one hundred percent kill rate 225

  with Krenthol.’

  Stich stared past the curtains. He had stumbled into a nightmare.

  ‘But now they have a problem. For some reason they have a Promase deficient patient on their trial –

  whose tumour they, themselves, caused – and who is not responding to their treatment.’

  ‘If I’m Promase deficient, why the hell was I allowed on?’

  ‘I believe Richard Hart falsified your blood test.

  Do you have any idea why?’

  Stich hesitated. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure … What is this?’

  ‘Richard Hart was beaten to death two nights ago.’ Maxi stood up. ‘Stich, I want you to help me bring Laurence Tench down.’

  ‘How?’
/>   ‘An acquaintance of mine, someone I knew from my business days, has a large financial interest in one of Immteck’s major competitors. As you might imagine, the information I have shared with you is something he is very interested in. He has agreed to provide financial backing to execute a plan which will expose Krenthol without alerting Tench beforehand.’

  ‘What’s my part in it?’

  ‘I need you to volunteer for an experiment.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Tonight, at an Immteck research facility, there is a demonstration being given to a select group of guests. Krenthol is at a new stage of development 226

  and Immteck need another injection of cash.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You can make sure they don’t get it. The drug doesn’t work on you, which makes you the ideal person to take part.’

  ‘We know the identity of the patient they have earmarked for the demonstration,’ said Kelvin. ‘We simply swap your identity with his and Immteck have a demo that will go spectacularly wrong. The drug will be discredited in front of the very people Tench and Immteck want to impress and the whole operation will be dishonoured.’

  ‘Which will hurt investment in Krenthol.’

  ‘And decimate the value of Immteck stock.’

  ‘What will happen to me if I agree?’

  ‘You’ll be anesthetised and a small incision will be made in your stomach to allow entry of a miniature camera. After that, we’re not sure.’

  ‘Who’s bankrolling all of this?’

  ‘That’s confidential,’ said Kelvin quickly.

  ‘Is it? Then count me out. I’ve had enough surgery to last a lifetime anyway. You’ve got enough information to bring Tench down. Give it to Alan and let him take it on.’

  Maxi got up from his seat. ‘Look, the man providing money for all this is adamant that his input remains anonymous. Surely you understand that? He wants Tench just as we do, the difference is, he can’t be seen to want it. The story we have is dynamite but not enough on its own – Tench is liable to wriggle away from it – the demo, though, that is incontrovertible. I know it’s not fair to spring this on 227

  you all at once,’ said Maxi softening, ‘and because of that we have what we hope will be a nice surprise for you.’

  Kelvin opened the document case and removed a sheaf of papers stapled together. ‘We have an authorisation to give you a cheque. It’s yours if you want it.’

  ‘How much for?’

  ‘Shall we say two hundred thousand pounds?’

  said Kelvin.

  ‘Christ. Your friend must want Tench badly.’

  ‘He does, Stich,’ said Maxi. ‘We all do.’

  ‘If I agree, how can I be sure I’ll get paid?’

  ‘I’ll post date the cheque,’ said Kelvin. ‘You can take it now.’

  Stich’s eyes flicked on to the file again.

  ‘Come on, Stich,’ said Maxi. ‘Think about what this money would do for Alice’s future.’

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  42

  Mozart’s Requiem swam around Laurence Tench’s head. It was here in the car that he felt most comfortable; most able to find peace. He allowed the music to carry him off. There were no limits, just an endless sea of what-might-have-beens.

  Lauren – as always – is with him. She’s fourteen years old and on the cusp of womanhood. She’s chatting, but he doesn’t hear her. He just watches her be. The feeling is so light …

  The car halted and Tench came to. Ed Connor had waited on a side street, hand casually thrust into his jeans, his jacket turned upwards, against the cold. The driver slipped out and moved around to open the door. Ed ducked in and sat next to Tench, leaning back into the soft, leather upholstery. The car moved off again.

  ‘You like Mozart, Ed?’ asked Tench, eyes still closed.

  ‘I wouldn’t go out of my way to buy it.’

  Tench smiled. ‘Well, you’re honest at least.’

  Ed began brushing at his trousers.

  Tench lowered the volume on the music. ‘Was it problematic?’

  Ed shook his head.

  ‘She didn’t suffer?’

  229

  ‘Not at all.’

  Tench smiled. ‘I’m glad. I just wish things hadn’t come to that.’

  Ed shifted in his seat. ‘Stichell’s been up to Cambridge. He went to visit a professor of pathology – a man called Berry. Do you know him?’

  Tench’s brow furrowed. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll find out more.’

  Tench thrust out a thumb and begun finger counting.

  ‘Stichell, Harrison, Rand, Vicky White.’ He studied his own hand. ‘Is there anyone else?’

  Ed glanced at it. ‘Apart from Berry?’

  ‘I haven’t made a decision about him, yet. It depends what Stichell wanted with him.’

  ‘Then, no, I don’t think there is anyone else.’

  ‘Good, that just leaves Stichell to deal with. What is happening with the child?’ he asked softly.

  ‘She’s with his aunt.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I have a man at the house. We wait until he calls.’

  Tench tapped on the driver’s glass. The car pulled into the curb.

  ‘Keep me informed. I’ll be at the demo tonight.’

  ‘Okay.’

  * * *

  ‘It’ll be a lot safer here, Stich.’ Maxi said.

  ‘I don’t care. I’m not cowering away in some shitty room above a pub.’

  Maxi stood up. ‘Okay. I can’t make you stay.’

  230

  Kelvin dabbed his mouth with a tissue. ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Out.’

  ‘We’re worried about you, that’s all, Stich.’

  ‘I need to get my head around a few things.’

  Maxi glanced at Kelvin.

  ‘Why not a private room here? It will give you thinking time.’

  Stich got up. ‘Thanks, but, no. I’ll cope.’

  ‘You are familiar with the meeting place?’ Kelvin asked him once more.

  ‘Holborn tube? You kidding?’

  ‘An hour and ten. You’ve got the fresh mobile?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Keep it switched on.’

  Fifteen minutes later and Stich was on the street, the information they had given him buzzing around his head. He kept coming back to the same question: why would Richard Hart falsify his blood test?

  Stich had a pretty good idea. Bastard. Now he was dead and Stich was not a bit sorry. He checked his watch. Vicky.

  He used the fresh mobile to ring the hotel room but there was still no reply. Maybe she’d left him a message. He briefly turned on Susan’s phone to check. The message waiting tone sent him fumbling at the keys to access voice mail.

  ‘Stich, it’s Magenta … Magenta Rosti. Stich, I’ve got an email from Susan. Call me.’

  He dialled callback and she answered immediately.

  ‘Stich? Shit, I’ve been worried. Susan wants you 231

  to access a site called susiesue.com.’

  ‘Mags, when did you get the email?’

  ‘It was waiting for me when I logged on.’

  ‘Can you check when she sent it?’

  There was some noise off-phone. ‘4.30 yesterday afternoon.’

  Half an hour before he picked her up at Immteck.

  ‘Oh, and Stich, she cc’d it to another person.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Someone called Roy Burman.’

  Roy?

  ‘Mags, I know you saw what happened at Moorcroft. Did you phone Susan?’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  He let out a long breath. ‘Oh, Christ. She’s on the CCTV footage.’

  ‘Stich, this email … ’

  ‘Susan’s dead, Mags.’

  ‘What? Oh my God.’

  ‘There’s a library nearby. I’ll check out the web address.’

  ‘But what about Susan?’

  ‘There’
s no time now.’

  ‘Stich?’

  ‘I’ve got to go.’ He cancelled the call and slipped Susan’s mobile back in his pocket.

  Theobald’s Road was a two-minute walk and the library, when he arrived, was full of students. They sat in clusters. Stich moved in, cranked up a free machine and typed the susiesue address into the web browser. When it loaded, the page was blank except for a window at the top that invited a password.

  232

  Susan only had two passwords and he tried both of them. The second – Hamilton, the name of her halls at uni – did the trick.

  Hello, Stich.

  If you’re reading this, things have gone bad.

  A spasm twisted his gut.

  First, I’m glad you found the website. The safest option I could come up with at short notice – if I’d left this stuff on my computer they would have found it. There’s a hyperlink below that will take you to what you to want to know. It’s a lot of information but worth it. Someone I work with – a guy called Mike Venton who was once a student at LSE – got the info. Anyway it will make more sense when you read it. Hopefully I can get to the bottom of what’s going on and you won’t ever know about this. If I can’t, then you might need help from Mike. He knows as much as I do.

  Stich sat blinking at the screen. How long had Mike been dead? Three weeks? When was this written?

  He scrolled down.

  Nothing.

  Stich hit the icon below her message and the computer threw up a table of financial data, with five columns, titled:

  DATE

  NUMBER OF

  PRICE PER

  BUYER

  INSTRUCTION

  OPTION

  CONTRACT

  TO SELL

  CONTRACTS

  ACQUIRED

  There were dozens of share transactions spilling 233

  over five pages. Stich had expected to find some science jargon, or even better, some plain, simple English. He certainly didn’t expect this. He knew nothing about share dealing. Neither did Susan as far as Stich knew. But what he did recognise was the Immteck name on each entry. The columns showed records of Immteck share transactions. Stich ran his eyes along the rows, made a note of them and double-checked each in turn. All the purchases had been made by three organizations, in steadily increasing amounts, over the last months. Next to each purchase was an instruction to sell. Each tranche was to be sold by close of market on the 21st November – today’s date.